Chapter Twenty-Four
Dakota
Monday
Rylee and Dakota had zipped their sleeping bags together so they could sleep in each other’s arms.
Tank was in his crate, lying on his back and snoring.
“Jasper spent the night with Neesa last night,” Rylee whispered her gossip.
“Mmm, do I want to know that?” Dakota chuckled as he pulled Rylee tighter against him and whispered in her ear.
“I’m going to tell you a secret about Jasper.
We don’t meet weekly at Macadoo’s. Jasper didn’t think it was professional to ask Neesa out, though he thought they had a spark.
So when she was walking down the corridor behind us, Jasper set up the event in the hopes that Neesa would come, and once he saw her in an off-hours setting, he could talk to her as a private citizen. ”
“Clever. Neesa took the bait, hook, line, and sinker. But what if she liked Jasper, but she had judo lessons that night?”
Dakota moved to the side as Rylee kicked her feet. She did that throughout the night. Last night and the night at her place. “Then Jasper would have licked his wounds and worked on overcoming a broken heart.”
“They’re cute together,” Rylee said, flipping over and pushing her ass into his hard-on, then pulling his arm over her so they spooned.
Because this was a community tent and anyone could come in at any time, it was a blissfully torturous position to be in. “Tell me what you think about our many brush passes before we finally met. Veer said it was Fate’s hand.”
“Veer is?”
“A woman you didn’t meet because you kicked some guy’s ass and left before we could toast you.”
“Fate’s hand keeping us apart, you mean? I mean, if I was always running off in the other direction …”
“Don’t finish that sentence. I kind of thought of it as flirtatious,” Dakota ventured. “Like, I don’t know, teasing foreplay. No, that sounds awful and isn’t the right sentiment.”
His phone pinged, and Dakota reached for it, squinting at the screen. “Huh.”
“What’s that?”
“A Navy brother in Utah texted. I guess it’s dinnertime there.
He said he ended up as a volunteer when the search and rescue team was out looking for a missing solo hiker.
The hiker just got pulled out of quicksand at Arches National Park thanks to the guy’s phone having an emergency satellite connection. ”
“Is the hiker okay?” Rylee asked.
“He was extracted and hiked out, so I assume so. Mace, he’s a guy on Cerberus Bravo, has a K9 named Diesel. Have you met him yet?”
“They did a round of names. I haven’t memorized them all yet.”
“His wife, Tara, got stuck in quicksand once. Luckily, she knew what to do, so the drunk people around her didn’t pull her legs off. That’s the closest I’ve come to knowing someone in quicksand.”
“I don’t know what to do.” Rylee kick-kicked her legs. “What do you do in quicksand? What do you do if it’s your dog in that mess? You can’t go in after him, and isn’t it a bad thing to flounder? Of course, a dog would struggle.”
“Wow. That’s a horrific thought.” Dakota focused on Tank and went completely still.
Rylee reached out a hand and gripped his arm. “In the Kevin Bacon scenario, I am now three people away from knowing anyone who has ever encountered quicksand. You have to figure that’s pretty rare.”
Dakota didn’t take his eyes off Tank when he gave his slight nod.
“You had a rush of thinking, ‘What would I do if anything were to ever happen to Tank?’”
Dakota turned back and smoothed a hand protectively over her hair.
“I get it. It’s terrible to think of something happening to someone. It’s worse if you’re in a position where you have vowed care and safety. It’s almost unbearable when they’re suffering, and there is shit-all that you can do about it.”
“Who are you thinking about right now?” Dakota asked.
“My dad. He’s had MS since I was a kid. You saw him, he’s in a wheelchair now.”
“I’m sorry that’s happening.”
“Yeah. I’m the medical person in the family. I’ve made a second career of poring over the scientific studies and trying to get him into trials.”
“No success?” He smoothed his hand down her arm, then pulled her hips so he could wrap himself protectively around her.
“Not for him.”
“But someone?” There was a niggle of danger that prickled Dakota’s scalp.
“As of yesterday? Me.”
“You.” His heart slammed into his ribs. “Why you?” His voice had deepened and grown husky, rumbling from his chest. “Why you, Rylee?”
“I went through testing this week. And I got my results. It’s MS. But—” She patted his arm. “Squeezing, too tight.”
Dakota had to force himself to soften.
“I am all set up for a really promising experiment. A guy with the British Army that I knew in Afghanistan is now working on experimental CAR T-cell therapies in London. And he knew I was looking for a trial for Dad. He clued me in that a group in his building was looking for volunteers.”
“For your dad, though.”
“He was too advanced,” Rylee said.
“But you’re not? This might work for you, right?”
“Fingers crossed. Over the last year, I’ve had mild symptoms that come and go, pins and needles, and numbness in my hands and feet. I was pretty sure that I knew what it was. It was harder to convince a doctor to take a closer look. They thought I should take up yoga.”
“Yoga. Does that help MS symptoms?”
“Not at all, but you know, it should calm a hysterical woman suffering from the ravages of anxiety.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Having never lived a woman’s life, you wouldn’t,” Rylee said, gently.
“Doctors know very little about women’s bodies.
Science was done on men for men up until the last couple of decades.
So when women show up with symptoms that don’t immediately ring a bell because the symptoms are different from men’s with the same condition—”
“Like Neesa was saying, a heart attack was felt differently?”
“Exactly. So women show up and say, ‘Hey, here is a list of my symptoms I’m experiencing.’ and the doctor writes ‘whiney woman’ or ‘difficult’ on the chart, notes the issues, and they do absolutely nothing to fix the situation.”
Dakota was mystified by what Rylee was saying. He believed her. He’d heard his friends complain about the frustration of medical care. Nothing this bad, though. You don’t mess around with something as degenerative as MS. You treat it ASAP.
“Cut out caffeine and take up yoga?” Dakota tried to match her matter-of-fact delivery. But inside, his body was in full protective mode. He’d move mountains to help her get better.
“Cure all. Panacea for all that ails us, sad, weak females.” He felt her grimace against his arm, then she said, “Sorry that sounded—”
“Like it should, dripping with disdain and frustration. I can’t imagine how you deal with the gaslighting.”
“The most dangerous one was that time I went to the doctor with severe stomach pains, and they said my leggings were too tight.”
“What was it?”
“Ectopic pregnancy.”
“What?” Dakota’s face hardened. “You didn’t die, which I’m very grateful for. How did you survive that shit?”
“I went home, changed into a sack dress, and went to a different hospital.”
“Do you think if a guy walked in with severe stomach pains, they’d have suggested it was from his pants being too tight? Disgusting.”
“Yeah.” Rylee kicked her legs again.
And now Dakota knew that it probably had to do with the discomfort of neuropathy. He’d experienced that a bit since he’d broken his back. But it wasn’t something that got worse with time. “So you have the diagnosis, how are you feeling?”
“Jostled.”
“Are you worried about being part of a study?”
“To be honest?” Rylee asked. “No. not at all.”
“But you’re here.”
“Might as well be. I’m a flight away from London. I’m leaving Wednesday morning. That will give me a day of downtime to rest a bit and a safety window if something unexpected happens. I get the prick on Friday.”
The ground beneath them rumbled, and Dakota pushed himself over the top of Rylee, bracing himself on his forearms to shield her.
A moment later, all was still.
“Aftershocks,” she whispered.